


A Year in the Life

by armsofthestorm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Humour, In the Style of Bridget Jones' Diary, M/M, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armsofthestorm/pseuds/armsofthestorm
Summary: Saturday 31 July, 7:00pm:So yes, my mad, murderous old ex has escaped prison and is on the lam. And naturally is as handsome as ever beneath lank hair and dirt and terrible haunted look in eyes. And even that, when considered from a certain perspective (not mine, obviously), could be quite alluring. I think I deserve to go and sit outside with the rest of my whiskey and smoke a few more cigarettes now— god knows I might as well make the most of jumping back in the deep end of nicotine addiction. Merlin, what a day.(Fic follows diary entries of one Remus Lupin from July 1993 until mid 1994.)





	1. July 1993

**Author's Note:**

> Accurately tagging for some of the more serious themes of this work would give completely the wrong impression, because it's at least trying to be a pretty lighthearted journey through Remus Lupin's crappy year/life. However, if you think self-deprecating jokes about alcohol or suicidal thoughts will make you uncomfortable, the backspace button is your friend.
> 
> Thank you to S for invaluable feedback, encouragement, and curtailing of em-dashes.

**Mid Years Resolutions**

(Since the New Years ones failed so miserably…)

  * Clean house properly at least once per week, and also (especially) the shed, which has got to be a hazard for the transformation the way it gets
  * Put more effort into finding freelance work, instead of moping about hoping it falls into lap
  * Stop drinking on weeknights
  * Stop getting sucked into following terrible Muggle soap operas, particularly whilst drunk on weeknights
  * Take brisk walk at least once per day, health permitting (take much slower, shorter walk if health not permitting— no good letting joints just seize up completely now, is there?)
  * Dig up godforsaken veggie patch and try to find something that is good to plant during late summer (perhaps silverbeet? Seem to recall Dad saying the stuff was near impossible to kill and am sure will be good to eat more vegetables)
  * Attempt to cultivate adult relationships
  * Join Muggle hobby group of some sort in order to further cause of above (perhaps look into book club? otherwise may have to be something terribly grim like model trains enthusiasts)
  * Do not start smoking again
  * No, really, do not even think about it



* * *

**Saturday 31 July**

_Cigarettes 18 1/2 (smoking one now), drinks 1 million (not a weeknight), terrible soaps watched unknown (they all bleed into one eventually)_

**7.00 pm** Have fallen offnon-smoking wagon a bit more than four weeks in I’m afraid, but in my defence, today has been beyond difficult. In related news, Sirius is as attractive as ever even after having spent the past twelve years in prison— either some breathtakingly unfair work by genetics at play here, or it says something v. terrible about me that I think so. Past history suggests that ‘both’ is not only reasonable answer but probable supposition, and as such we’ll just be moving right along from that subject, ta very much.

So yes, my mad, murderous old ex has escaped prison and is on the lam. And naturally is as handsome as ever beneath lank hair and dirt and terrible haunted look in eyes. And even that, when considered from a certain perspective (not mine, obviously), could be quite alluring. Despite the fact he’s definitely a really awful person and probably quite mad at this point if he wasn’t always— Dementors being what they are and doing what they do to people— and his attractiveness is therefore something of a moot point, particularly where I am concerned, it’s not going to stop me fretting about it in the slightest. And there I go, rattling on and on about his looks, when they’re possibly the least important thing about this whole horrible thing, not to mention it’s terribly embarrassing that I still seem to care.

I think I’m going to go and sit outside with this & the rest of my whiskey, so I can smoke a few more cigarettes— might as well make the most of leaping back into the deep end of nicotine addiction and so forth.

 **7.30 pm** It is a v. nice evening as it happens, and light on the balcony has dropped just far enough that it’s not even getting in my eyes, which is always good.It’ll be setting soon I suspect which means I’ll be stuck trying to write in the dark, but worse things have happened. Like Sirius escaping prison to do Merlin only knows what, and everything that got him sent to prison in the first place, and also the fact that I’ve just spilt my bloody drink all over this page! Not to mention all the ash I’m dropping on it. Smoking is disgusting, really must quit again soon. Damn, and it’s a nice new notebook too. Am about this close to giving this day up as a bad job and just going to bed— might be for the best honestly. At the very least it’ll stop me smoking through the rest of this packet of cigarettes… which will mean I have some left for the morning. Excellent.

Actually, did I tell you how I found out that Sirius had escaped from Azkaban? I was watching the Muggle news over breakfast this morning and the presenter was rambling on and on about some kind of weather pattern or a new tax and I was nearly falling asleep, when she starts talking in that v. serious voice they get when they talk about murder and such.

‘In breaking news, authorities are reporting that convicted mass-murderer Sirius Black has escaped from prison and is believed to be at large. Black, who was convicted of the murder of thirteen people in 1981 and sentenced to life in prison…’

At which point a picture of Sirius’s face appeared on the screen, I briefly entertained the hope that I was hallucinating, and then the head, of all people, Albus Dumbledore, appeared in my fireplace, apologising for the surprise drop in and asking in his very calm way if I’d seen the Muggle news— I suspect the television playing in the other room answered that question more concisely than my dead-fish look of compound shock and surprise— and that he was sorry I’d had to find out about Sirius the way I did.

‘My dear boy, I’d have called sooner, but I didn’t know until a minute ago myself that the Muggle press was going to be so quick with the announcement.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, Cornelius Fudge has only just finished meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister in the past hour, and he seemed to think the news might be out with the next printing run of the Muggle papers— that said, Fudge has never been the most knowledgeable about Muggle technology and even I am a little baffled as to this television carry-on, the whole thing was just explained to me by a very bright young Muggleborn witch at the Ministry to no further illumination on my part. Though I see you own one, naturally— fascinating machines.’

‘Yes, right.’ Not my most articulate hour, but can you really blame me?

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘This must be very difficult for you.’ (For the record, this, if you have the kind of voice that can convey both infinite kindness & sadness at the same bloody time, is an awful thing to say to someone who is in a bit of a difficult spot, because he will likely be overcome by the need to blubber like a baby and only barely restrain himself thanks to thirty odd years training in the fine art of emotional suppression.)

‘Thank you for calling,’ I said, and hoped he would take it as an invitation to leave, which was maybe rude, but I didn’t really know why he was in my fireplace in the first place and had no interest in continuing this wholly unasked for conversation.

‘I hope you didn’t mind the intrusion,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I wanted to speak with you regardless— you may be aware that Hogwarts is again in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?’

I shook my head, probably looking quite gormless at this point if by some miracle I had managed to avoid it earlier.

‘No matter,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It’s only that I’d thought to offer you the job, if you had any interest at all. You scored very well in DADA in both your OWLs and your NEWTs, and I know that you’ve accrued some significant field experience since you left us. I think you would be very well suited for the job and certainly the experience you have in real-world defense would be most useful to our students, should you have any inclination toward taking it.’

Unbelievably, that detail had completely slipped my mind from sometime after I’d finished about half the bottle of whiskey until now. Huh. Anyway, instead of gawping at him some more, or saying ‘WHAT,’ I’m please to report that I replied with something coherent and semi-human, like: ‘Of course I would be inclined to take it, only can you talk to me about it later, you’ve caught me at a rather bad time.’

Except if you can imagine that with rather more stuttering and apologising and a little less clarity and dignity. Then we said our goodbyes and I ran off to the shops in a daze for fags and whiskey and quite quickly thereafter started drinking for the day, which brings us quite naturally to the current point in the narrative. And now I’m going to bed.


	2. August 1993, Part 1

**Sunday 1 August**

_Cigarettes 9, drinks 0 (v.g.)_

**10.30am** Let it be known that only reason have not tried to drink away sorrows yet today is because of terrible hangover from yesterday’s excesses not to mention full moon tonight; hair of the dog always disagreed with me. Ha ha. Can’t decide if werewolf joke or Sirius joke, and would come back later only then will have lost spirit of moment and it won’t be funny anymore which is a pity.

Actually, that isn’t true. The bit about the reason I haven’t taken up alcoholism full time, not the bit about the joke etc., because there is another reason for that one, and that is because I am expecting a Floo call! From Dumbledore no less about my (fingers crossed) new job at Hogwarts, which is fantastic in both senses and am still slightly convinced the whole thing was giant hallucination brought on by stress. Regardless, do not want to talk to old Headmaster who is (fingers stillcrossed) about to offer me a job (!!)(??) whilst drunk, lest I say something unforgivably stupid and he changes his mind and I really do have to become a day-drinking sadsack full time. Though it occurs to me now that not being drunk is hardly good safeguard against this possibility and perhaps I would be less unbearably nervous after a nice splash of something.

But no, that would be unprofessional and I should really shower and put on some clean clothes before he shows up in the fireplace. Ta ta for now.

 **1.30pm** Have just got away from Floo call with Dumbledore; v. stressful, but it does at least appear that I am employed full time for the first time in… oh, three years or so (what a depressing thought, Merlin, didn’t realise till just now it’d been quite that long. Don’t even want to know how long it’s been since I last had a decent shag, which as I recall was sometime before being fired from the last place…). At least starting in a month, and I think I have enough bits and pieces to tide me over until then. Should probably be happy about it, but I don’t know what to feel exactly. Obviously, steady pay cheque will be welcome (more than welcome, honestly, current state of my finances really does not even bear thinking about), will be nice to see Hogwarts again and to have adult company, and Dumbledore mentioned Wolfsbane as a possibility. On the other hand, it’ll be beyond strange to teach alongside the people that taught me—and here I am mainly referring to the incomparable Minerva McGonagall who is not of this earth and scares the pants off me too much for me to ever feel worthy of considering her as a colleague— and this whole Sirius thing has me out of sorts generally. Can’t help feeling Dumbledore has some ulterior motive over the whole thing too considering timing and whatnot, though to be fair it’s just safer to assume he’s furthering three different agendas at any given moment so not worth being too bothered about that one honestly.

At least now the whole interview bother is over I can start drinking again and then I might be able to think about it without desperately wanting to SCREAM. Also if I do it in the afternoon it’s technically not a week _night_ … not that days of the week are of tremendous importance to the mostly-unemployed. Christ.

 **Not late enough in the evening to be this pissed** Was wrong about the booze helping with thinking about Sirius and not wanting to scream— it just makes me want to think about him more and not only do I want to scream I also want to laugh like a mad person. Like Sirius apparently did when they were carting him off into a cell, actually. But I’m still leaning on the hysterical laughter instead of the screaming for the simple reason that it’s a lot quieter, so I suppose there’s that to be said for the whole thing.

I don’t know what he wants, is the thing, I don’t know why he’s escaped and I don’t know what he wants and I’m terrified that it’s got to do with Voldemort, or Harry, or both and I don’t know if I’m more scared that he might want something with me or that he won’t, and that scares me shitless about myself. Why should I want him to need something from me? Am I just afraid that I was too insignificant in the end to even matter to him now, and for some stupid reason my ego’s more important to me than the thought that a mass murderer might be after me?

This is probably actually because he’s still really good looking, isn’t it. O to be less predictable, and less of a fucking joke. I think I need more wine. Not like itcan possibly make me feel worse tomorrow, god help me.

* * *

**Monday 2 August**

_Cigarettes 11, drinks 0 (impending full moon & dreadful bloody hangover keeping me in check)_

**5.00pm** Three hours till moonrise and I feel iller than I have in Merlin only knows how long. (Since I was last hungover before a full moon, I suspect. Maybe this’ll finally teach me.) Unfortunately have had no non-hungover-and-miserable time to clear out shed properly but have at least removed several rusty nails from floor and where stuck into door, not to mention the great big toothed saw Dad left here two weeks ago when we did the trees. Or, well, when I did the trees and he stood in the shade by the back door and told me all about how I was doing it wrong, which is just about what one expects from one’s father & so surprisingly comforting despite reaction of extreme antagonism it produces in even the most mature and emotionally controlled of sons, which I’m afraid I am not.

Regardless, accidental death by blood loss &/or tetanus is now much less likely, though as ever the thought of bleeding out and dying on the floor after the transformation is a tempting one. Admittedly not as tempting as the thought of living through the aftermath of a really nasty accident is off-putting, without even getting into the mess it’d make for whichever poor sod has to wipe me off the floor.

You know I really must try to be less morbid. At my age it’s not even embarrassing anymore, it’s just too pathetic and sad. Should’ve gotten it all over with about ten years ago either way. And Christ if that isn’t an even more depressing thought— really on a roll at the moment. I blame the hangover. And Sirius too of course but much like moping about my own death, blaming Sirius for everything has just been a bit repetitive for too long a time now.

Ah well. Best go find something to do with my time for the next few hours, maybe eat something that isn’t a light snack of cigarettes & dry toast. Full moons on an empty stomach are always a bit shittier than the usual, and this one in particular will not need the assist.

* * *

**Tuesday 3 August**

_Cigarettes 1, drinks 0 (no more fags or booze in house; am too fatigued from lunar nonsense to go into to town for replacements)_

Well it’s six pm and I have only just woken up enough to be able to write & not moan pitifully & not hide under covers until feel less godawful, but today has been more or less predictable ie. more on the terrible end of the spectrum than the er, other end, if such a thing exists for the day after the full moon. Also have run out of not only ciggies & wine & biscuits but any possible makings of actual adult dinner, am instead subsisting on slightly stale crackers and hard cheese. Only positive aspect of today is have barely thought of Sirius at all (after three days of it I was getting rather sick of him in my head all the time).

Going to sleep now, things will probably look up in morning.

* * *

**Wednesday 4 August**

Well I suppose things did look up a bit today. Decided to brush up on my Defence Against the Dark Arts, thinking that things have surely changed in the um, er, well, decade and a half since I was at Hogwarts, so dragged sorry arse down to the library London in the hopes of picking up a few new books or something on the subject, as well as to jog my memory as to what actually happened to the past several DADA teachers, my memory for Hogwarts gossip not being what it used to be— the _Daily Prophet_ is typically lacking in helpful detail on the subject but what I have learnt is that I am more qualified for the job than nearly anyone they’ve had in years just by virtue of being mostly hinged, as it were (this past weekend notwithstanding).

Even being Sirius Black’s ex-boyfriend and a werewolf looks like pretty well nothing beside a chap who apparently faked about three lifetimes worth ofachievements, and another one who had Lord Voldemort growing out of the back of his head. (This detail wasn’t in the papers but Minerva McGonagall (!!) also owled this morning and this was among the more revelatory details of happenings at Hogwarts since I left in nineteen-seventy-mumble-mumble.) So the upshot of it all is that I’m feeling much less foolish and out of my depth about the teaching aspect, as Professor McGonagall was also very scathing about “Professor” Lockhart’s abilities as a teacher… However now am much more nervous about my own continuing physical safety & also job security— I always brushed the curse thing off as silly superstition when I was in school but I’m starting to think maybe it’s really trie. That said when has my own physical safety or job security been a sure thing. Never, that’s when.

Anyway, have to pop down the shops now, have an uncharacteristic hankering for something green and vegetable shaped so may as well lean into this shockingly adult and boring impulse before it passes like so much dust in the wind.

PS. Saw a picture of Sirius in the _Prophet_ today as well and regret to report that his mugshot is more attractive every time I see it. Or perhaps I’m still just losing it.


	3. August 1993 Part II

**Thursday 5 August**

_Cigarettes 5 (okay), drinks 2, green things consumed 12ish (v. good)_

**4.30pm** The fact that I can be very dim at times has not escaped my notice, but I’ve never felt it more keenly than five minutes ago when I read Minerva’s last letter and was reminded Harry’s at Hogwarts now (in his third year this coming term), and that as a result I’ll be teaching him. Merlin’s fucking pants. I feel like I’m not adult enough for this. The last time I saw Harry he was barely toddling, and now I’m supposed to believe not only that he is a thirteen year old (??), but that I’m supposed to teach him magic. Christ. I think I’d rather face Sirius Black in a wizard’s duel, and I had a really godawful nightmare about that too last night.

(Specifying ‘wizard’s duel’ here because he’s malnourished and scrawny these days and I know he can’t throw a punch at the best of times, so I’d be much less apprehensive about facing him in a bout of fisticuffs… maybe I’ll suggest it if it comes to it. Just tell him ‘we’ll settle this like men’ or some other ridiculous line from a Muggle film, and see if we can’t do it bare-knuckle. Merlin, it’d be so satisfying just to be able to punch him in right in his face. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of this before— I always thought I’d curse him horribly somehow, or just cry at him— but this is a very satisfying fantasy. I think it’s the physical contact factor. In other news, no I have not stopped thinking terrible things about Sirius Black’s attractiveness, but thanks for asking.)

Is this how Dumbledore felt when he had to go and face off against Grindelwald? I know he’ll never confirm anything, but you hear rumours now and again and I do wonder. Though I flatter myself that I have better taste than old Albus—where Grindelwald murdered thousands Sirius only seems to be responsible for the deaths of some fifteen-odd individuals.

Christ, can you imagine Dumbledore staring at pictures of Grindelwald in 40s papers with guilty lust & sadness in his heart? What an image.

Received another letter from Minerva; most of it was a semi-official briefing about the runnings of Hogwarts from a teacher’s perspective (she said that she thought I probably knew how things ought to work from the student side, but that she’d be grateful if I were better behaved as a teacher which I think was a joke but the implied disapproval still makes me feel incredibly guilty), which was just as dull as it sounds, though part of it was suggestions for my curriculum based on exactly where she thinks my predecessors were lacking which was far more entertaining as she really does not hold back on the verbally eviscerating judgments. Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, find yourself on that woman’s bad side. 

* * *

**Sunday 8 August**

_Cigarettes 4, drinks 8, green things planted many_

Have really regained my equilibrium in past two days; v. good. Called in on Dad on Friday afternoon—usual visiting time anyway—and on Saturday dug up vegetable patch. Even know what to plant now thanks to v. helpful book Dad gave me with planting times and best soil conditions for about every crop you could possibly want to grow and probably a few you’d rather not, which he says he doesn’t need anymore because his back’s getting too stiff these days to keep digging up gardens and he knows most of what’s in it anyway.

We sat down for lunch, I told him about the new job, he was impressed that Dumbledore Flooed me personally (because he has a permanent case of hero worship due to being an impressionable age when Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald) and he was pleased about the job, and then he went on and did his usual routine for when he’s trying to talk about Well You Know What, which is just to ask me, in that odd, gruff tone men of his generation seem to use to indicate acute discomfort with their emotions, if I’m all right about this then, waving his hand vaguely over a copy of the Daily Prophet with Sirius’s face on the front of it.

I nodded as casually as I could, and smiled, which probably produced a rather frightening expression instead. Dad’s blokey facade cracked for about half a second upon seeing it at least, which was also quite frightening.

‘You sure, lad?’

I shrugged, trying once more for blissfully casual. ‘I’m not even thinking about it really,’ I said, a lie so blatant and poorly told my father actually winced, and I knocked my glass of water off the stool it was perched on trying to illustrate through arm gestures how incredibly unbothered I was. As neither of us had any idea how to address this in terms of the topic at hand (my obviously very strong emotions concerning one Sirius Black, which for some reason I was not admitting to), I righted it and we just carried right along like it hadn’t happened.

‘Bit of a shock, though,’ he said. ‘Thought we were well shot of him.’ As you may recall, Dad never liked Sirius. I used to think it was because he suspected there was something between us and he couldn’t bear the thought of his only son being some kind of etc. etc. even if he’s generally the tolerant sort. Then he was the picture of parental decency to the two boyfriends I actually introduced him to so now I think it’s probably just that Sirius was rich and a pureblood, and I can’t really blame him for his prejudices there.

‘Security in Azkaban is just dreadful these days, apparently,’ I said, hoping that flippancy would save me where brute force of emotional suppression and outright lying had not.

‘You just look after yourself, Remus,’ said Dad, and then I wanted to cry for about the fiftieth time this week.

‘Look,’ I said, rubbing my face in some kind of pathetic attempt to distract from the whole tearing-up-a-bit situation, ‘I’ll be fine. Worse things have happened—to me and involving Sirius even, and I’ll be at Hogwarts soon and too distracted to think about it anyway.’ Which was so much more honest than I had meant it to be, because apparently even flippancy couldn’t save me from cracking under the strain of good old Dad’s slightly brusque concern. Or maybe because all of my self-control was being expended on the effort of not snapping something rude and probably even more revealing.

Dad nodded and clapped me on the shoulder a bit, and I managed to look appropriately unhappy-but-still-stoic, and then made my excuses to leave as soon as possible and apparated home to the welcoming embrace of about three whiskeys knocked back in quick succession (before you start, it wasn’t a weeknight and it was after five—well, ten minutes before but who’s counting) and also my lesson planning. Really don’t want McGonagall unimpressed with me and that.

* * *

**Thursday 12 August**

_Cigarettes 1, drinks 0, t-minus 18 days to Hogwarts_

Went to tea with Minerva McGonagall in Caithness today; not much of an interesting week otherwise. Verbal eviscerations of DADA teachers past even funnier in person, still not nearly funny enough to forget am next in line if I disappoint.

Minerva lives with Rolanda Hooch in what is a very charming cottage, and this confirms an over a decade and a half year old hunch that she prefers the company of witches. Which come to think of it mainly came about because I saw her ogling Hooch one day on the Quidditch pitch. I knew all about Quidditch ogling at the time so that is why I noticed, even though most of my brain told me that McGonagall was far too dignified and put together to engage in such pursuits. Is somewhat gratifying to be proven right on this count as makes McGonagall seem v. slightly more human, though obviously still head and shoulders above us mere mortals.

They seem very happy together so suppose it is also possible that there’s hope for long term commitment & stability & relationships that aren’t torn apart by tragedy or betrayal, which is nice. They have a v. excellent veggie patch which I can only hope to aspire to, and Minerva also makes fantastic shortbread which again, I can only hope to aspire to, as these two things may in fact be the keys to a happy and long-lasting relationship. That and concurrent opinions about Quidditch, so now I know why at least two of my non-Sirius relationships were doomed to failure even if I hadn’t ruined them by being a terrible, uncommunicative excuse for a person.

Of course the main key to success might be ‘being Minerva McGonagall,’ which unfortunately is miles and miles from anyone’s and especially my grasp even on a good day, but I’ll keep my delusions alive nevertheless.

You know, I used to agree with Sirius about Quidditch.

Oh good god, let’s just not even try to address that.

Anyway am trying to quit smoking again, wish me luck.

* * *

**Monday 16 August**

_Cigarettes 0, drinks 6_

**9:00pm** Quitting smoking going well, lesson plans getting written, garden growing nicely. Think silverbeet & cabbage will be large enough to start eating about Hallowe’en, which means may even be able to travel back here to actually enjoy the bloody things. Not much to report, Dad is well, Sirius is well-hidden whatever he may be doing, and also certainly didn’t show up in my nightmares last night. I’m joking of course, it was awful because it was such a good dream right up until the part where I remembered that he was the one who betrayed Lily and James to Voldemort and killed Peter and all those other people.

* * *

**Sunday 22 August**

_Cigarettes 2, drinks 7, vegetables 4, t-minus 9 days to Hogwarts_

**10:15pm** T-minus 9 days to full moon also unfortunately. Not looking forward to the trip up to Scotland, with my luck I’ll be so tired I’ll splinch myself and bleed out in front of the school gates just to really traumatise the first years. Wonder if Dumbledore’d let me use the Shack since Wolfsbane’s probably out of the question by now; will ask him tomorrow.

Do you think it counts as quitting smoking if you only smoke a pack every two weeks? Probably not, damn. Hopefully the little sticks of death & temptation will be less easy to come by in Hogsmeade otherwise I’ve no idea how I’m going to do it. Can’t believe I’d quit for more than a month before Sirius showed up on the news, can’t honestly remember how I managed it; threw this current pack in the bin yesterday and put mouldy coffee grounds and one of last week’s dinners on top of it as a deterrent, but before I knew it I was scrounging through the rubbish like a dog to get at them except I’m quite sure I’ve seen dogs with more dignity.

Speaking of dogs, there still no sign of a certain ex of mine, which probably means he’s in his Animagus form full time; he couldn’t be inconspicuous as a human if he tried and not only because the whole country’s out looking for him. Though I suppose we all used to think he was useless undercover and look where that got us, so who knows. I haven’t seen him at least, or at least not while I’m awake, though drinking somewhat heavily before bed seems to really knock the dreams on the head so it’s been a few days since that happened as well.

**10:50pm** Oh and Dumbledore says I can’t use the Shrieking Shack to transform because he wants me on the Hogwarts Express on the way up, something about needing someone he can trust and Dementors at Hogwarts. Christ, they really are taking this Sirius thing seriously. Ha. At least I’ll be able to sleep on the train. Night night.

* * *

**Tuesday 31 August**

_Cigarettes 1, drinks 0, green/vegetable shaped things eaten 6 (good)_

Really hope all these extra vegetables I’ve been eating out of guilt (due to being able to quit neither smoking nor drinking on weeknights, nor entirely the habit of watching Muggle soaps) make transformation less unbearable, as am going to have to get on a train in London an estimated three hours after I wake up. Have everything packed, trunk has featherweight charms already on it, clothes are laid out on bed for after shower, including chocolate bar in jacket pocket in case Dementors really do show up on train, and house is clean. Congratulations to me.

Right, off to the shed now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it! 
> 
> Please note that this fic is currently a work in progress; I have enough finished, edited material for 3-4 more chapters at present, and after those are posted updates will happen er, as and when they happen. Hopefully fortnightly.


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